


Then We Shall See Each Other Face to Face

by soupgoblin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kind of existential, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupgoblin/pseuds/soupgoblin
Summary: Tim presses a button and everything goes dark. Then, he wakes up, and Sasha is there. They talk.yeah this is a talking in the afterlife scene between Tim and Sasha. I wrote it in like an hour for no reason with minimal editing so if I'm being honest it's uhh. probably not going to be the best thing I've ever written but you know what. it be like that sometimes.
Relationships: Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	Then We Shall See Each Other Face to Face

**Author's Note:**

> I felt dirty clicking the f/m box. I cannot believe my first ship fic is str*ight I'm so sorry lads 😔😔
> 
> also the title is from love love love by the mountain goats. I know its a biblical reference originally but thats John Darnielle's problem not mine because it fit well with my fic

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tick goes the clock on the wall of the archive breakroom. It is a white clock with black numbers. There are half empty coffee cups abandoned on the table and a stack of statements someone forgot to file half spilled over the sofa. Tim is sitting in a chair and there is a pillow behind his back. The light overhead is yellow and buzzes with faint electricity. The light is yellow. It had been dark in the place he was once. Until he pressed the button. Until it wasn’t. Then it was not dark but loud. There is no noise here but his own body shifting in the chair and the clock on the wall.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Sasha James is sitting on the sofa. The sofa is opposite him and she is sitting in it. Sasha. _Sasha_. Sasha with her face and her hair and her eyes and her _her_. He remembers her face now. He can see her face. He can see her again. He slumps out of the chair and onto the scratchy blue carpet on the floor. He thinks if he was still the person he once was, he would be crying. Tim had tried _so hard_ to remember Sasha’s face. He had thought of nothing else. He wasn’t even granted her _face_ as his body had crumpled. Sasha rises and kneels in front of Tim. Silently, she pulls him into her lap, and they just touch and remember. They beat in time.

Tick. Tick. Tick goes the clock.

“You made me wait a while,” says Sasha through a smile.

Tim half laughs and half sobs. “I’m sorry,” and he is smiling too. “I loved you,” he manages to choke out. “I loved you so much. Sasha I was so sorry.”

“I knew,” she says. “I knew.”

They sit quietly and remember each other, and themselves.

“Unforgettable, huh?” comments Tim. Sasha laughs.

“That aged poorly, I’ll admit. Perhaps I was a little forgettable.”

Tim looks at her face and he can see her. He can see every pore. Just as it was. Just as it is. He tells her he sees her now. She pulls him closer.

“I should have told you sooner,” she says. “That I loved you. I should have said it. I thought we had all the time in the world.”

“Time.” Tim laughs. “We did, once. It’s not your fault, love. It’s never your fault. We’re here now.”

And they are. The thing that remembers what it felt like to be Tim Stoker and the thing that remembers what it felt like to be Sasha James can see each other’s faces. They hold each other and mourn the people they remember what it felt like to be. The people who will never hold another again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“The world,” says Sasha quietly at some point, and Tim sees it too. He sees time and the world and what it used to be.

Tim wishes he could miss things. He wishes he could feel the sting of the explosion on his face. He wishes he was Tim and not the memory of Tim so he could miss the world. But Sasha is here. Sasha is here now. Poor Tim, who could not see her face when he died. They remember what it was to be Tim and Sasha. They wish they could miss it.

“The world will be ok,” says Tim.

If only he could lie.

The clock has a black hour hand and a black minute hand and a red second hand. It is battery powered, but luckily batteries don’t apply once you’re dead. Of course, neither do hours, or minutes, or seconds, but that is none of the clock’s concern.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Once, a person called Sasha James had curly hair. It reached her waist. Once, she wore round glasses and scrunched her nose when she laughed, which she never did when Tim made a pun, unless it was an especially good one. Once, Tim Stoker was taller than Sasha, and liked bad rock music, and weaponised these facts to place the stereo out of Sasha’s reach so she couldn’t turn off his music. Once, they were people. This Tim and Sasha are built of memories. They remember each other’s touch and the pressure is real. They were Tim and Sasha, once. Now, they just see each other. Their hearts beat to the clock on the wall. The scripture of the other’s fingertips is written on their bones.

There was a clock on the wall of the archive breakroom, once.

Now Tim and Sasha sit on the floor and think about when they were people.

“I loved you,” they say. “I loved you, I loved you, I loved you, I loved you.”

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tim smells Sasha’s jumper when he buries his face in it and he feels the curve of her jaw when he cups her face.

“I couldn’t remember your face. But I remembered _you._ I never stopped remembering. You never stopped mattering,” he says.

“Oh, to be a person,” says she. “To always matter. Built of the stars for a fractional moment of joy - the universe experiencing life. We did get the short straw, didn’t we, having to remember?”

Tim kisses Sasha in reply and they exist right there for the briefest of moments.

“I love you” says Tim.

Oh, to be a person again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.


End file.
